


Dream Team / MCYT Oneshot Collection

by skeletonzofphun



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: M/M, Minecraft, One Shot, One Shot Collection, YouTube, dream team, mcyt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28170507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonzofphun/pseuds/skeletonzofphun
Summary: A series of oneshots (mostly based off of songs!) including fictional depictions of members of the MCYT community.Some are fluff, some are angst, some have ships, some don't, etc. - There should be a decent amount of variety here, I think!I have a few ideas set up, but feel free to suggest an idea! If you do suggest something, please try to suggest a fic based off of a song or already-made concept!Note: While I *might* do smut works in the future, there will be 0 oneshots in this work that will include smut. Some oneshots may hint at smut, or allude to it in some way, but there will be 0 actual smut in this.
Relationships: Dream & GeorgeNotFound, Dream/George - Relationship, Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Dream x George (Wholesome)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a wholesome/fluff ship fic. The ship is Dream (Clay) and George.
> 
> Based off the song "Little League" by Conan Gray.
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: None

Clay lay on his back quietly, the recently-mowed green grass beneath him scratching at his back. His green eyes are fixated thoughtfully on the stars, barely even blinking; he’s so lost in thought he’s forgetting even to blink.

George is staring at him, all but spaced out, unlike the other. A soft smile is painted across his face, and with each passing second, it grows. “Clay?” he asks softly, gently poking his friend’s shoulder.

The younger of the two blinks a few times, pulling his gaze from the night sky to look over at George. He mirrors George’s smile immediately, and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? What?”

George chuckles, shaking his head and pushing himself up into a sitting position. Silence rests upon the two for a few moments like a soft blanket; it’s a comfortable silence, not awkward or tense. “. . Do you ever think about what things were like when we were kids?” he asks, his tone gentle as his own eyes drift to look up at the stars.

It’s quiet again for a few moments before Clay sighs softly, lifting his arms and balling them into fists. Rubbing at his eyes, he says, equally as quiet, “I guess so. I mean, not really, but… I… I dunno, why?”

George’s face relaxes, and a sigh leaves him, as well. “I dunno. It was only two years ago I was twenty. Seven years ago, I was fifteen.” A grin crosses his pale face, the expression lit up as the sun just starts to rise over the horizon. “You were eighteen, and thirteen. Little kid.”

Clay snorts, sitting up beside George and shoving him lightly. “I’m the kid, really? Which one of us wanted to come to the park at four in the morning to stare at the sky?” 

When George looks over to his friend, fixing himself so that he sits upright after being shoved, he smiles. Shrugging as his eyes search Clay’s face, which is now illuminated by the sunrise, too, he lets out a soft “ha.” The boy shakes his head. “That’s not childish. It’s my  _ aesthetic _ ,” he says jokingly. Clay rolls his eyes, but an amused grin tugs at his lips. Before he can answer, George sighs and continues. “I dunno. I feel like… I dunno. Our childhood was pretty crazy, don’t you think?”

Clay laughs. “Crazy is a little generous, George.”

“It’s not! Clay, we ran from the cops because  _ you  _ didn’t wanna go to chemistry and  _ I  _ didn’t wanna go without you. Nick got tazed!” 

Both of them laugh at the memory, the sound echoing a bit dully through the empty park. The sun rises further, casting a warm glow over both their faces and hoodies. As the seconds pass, their wide smiles fade, and George sighs yet again. He tends to do that a lot whenever he’s outside. Clay’s guessed by now that it’s a lung problem, and every time he teases about it, George insists that it’s because he “likes how the air tastes. It’s different.” He swears upon that every time.

“... Do you ever think about how much has changed since we were kids?” Clay asks, a small frown growing on his face as he falls into thought again.

Frowning a bit himself, George looks over at him again, then down at his own lap. “How do you mean?”

“I mean… When we were younger, everything was different. We never thought we would be here today, did we?”

As Clay lifts his head to look back up at the sky, George lifts his own, staring at a small squirrel that skitters across the beauty bark maybe twenty feet away. “... I guess,” he murmurs, scrunching up his nose as he tries to figure out what exactly his friend means by that.

“I mean... Just… Think about it, George. We were fucking with our neighbors so hard they called the cops on us, we were playing baseball, we were… You know? We never talked about being streamers, or YouTubers, or… none of that. We were just living life. Kids.” Clay sighs, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket and shrugging. “I dunno. It’s kinda stupid. It doesn’t make a lot of-”

“No,” George interrupts, frowning at the way Clay seems to feel guilty or something about what he’d said. “It does make sense, and it’s not stupid at all.” He furrows his eyebrows. “I… I get what you mean, I think.”

Silence, again.

“... I wish we could live life like that again,” Clay says softly. 

George runs a hand through his own hair, gently ruffling it to rid it of all the stray blades of grass. “Like what?” he murmurs. 

Clay furrows his eyebrows, scrunching up his own nose. He glances at George, whose eyes are fixated completely on the squirrel over on the playground. “... More impulsive, I guess. We lived to have fun, not just, like… to live.”

The older boy opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself, letting out a sharp sigh and pushing his hands into his hoodie pocket. 

Raising an eyebrow, Clay frowns. “What?” His eyes study George’s face for a few seconds as George seems to consider his response.

“I… I dunno, I just…” He sighs again and shrugs, twiddling his thumbs in his pocket like he always does when he gets frustrated. The deeper Clay’s frown becomes, the harsher George’s fingers press against each other out of view. 

“What are you so nervous about right now?” Clay asks with a gentle sigh, trying not to sound angry. He knows George is sensitive to tone and things like that; he’s always been careful about his tone, though. He cares about George a lot, and he doesn’t want to hurt his feelings, even if it’s an accident or something. Hurt is hurt.

George takes a few seconds, then shrugs. “I dunno. There’s… something I wanted to tell you a while ago, and then you got busy, so I waited. But you never got  _ not _ busy, and then  _ I _ got busy, and then I figured I should just let it go.” As Clay stares at him in silence, thinking, George shakes his head. “It’s stupid, anyways. We should… go home.” 

He shakes his head again.  _ Go home? That suddenly? _ George thinks, furrowing his eyebrows.  _ Suspicious as hell. What’s Clay gonna think? I hope he doesn’t get mad, or… like… I dunno. _

Clay’s eyes focus in on George again, and he swipes a hand through his own hair. “No, it’s… I’m sure it’s not stupid, man, tell me.” 

George bites his lip. “No, really, it’s… It’s stupid. Really, Clay.” 

With a soft huff, Clay’s eyes search George’s expression again. In an act of impulse - which is what he wanted, right? - he grabs George by the chin, gently turning his head so that they meet eyes. 

George’s cheeks turn pink, and he furrows his eyebrows. Before he can ask what the fuck Clay is doing, Clay says firmly, “Tell me what it is, George. I wanna know.”

The older gulps, grabbing Clay’s wrist and pulling his hand away. “Um…” He says quietly, a nervous giggle pushing its way up his tightened throat. “I mean, I… I guess if we’re being impulsive, yeah?”

Clay grins. “You’re not being impulsive at all. You’re overthink-”

“I’ve had feelings for you for years.” George says, interrupting him once more. 

As Clay’s eyebrows raise, George quickly looks away, his face feeling much hotter than it did before. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, that-... that was weird, I’m sorry.”

The younger gasps softly, quickly saying, “No! No, no, no.” His tone is gentle, but rushed, as if he himself is a little panicked. “No, it’s…” He bites his tongue, and hesitates. “It’s… fine, I…” Clay trails off, staring over at George where he sits a foot or so away.

“No, now everything’s gonna be weird, and like… I dunno, I shouldn’t have-”

Now Clay interrupts, snapping with a harshly soft tone, “George. Look, I... “ As George turns his head, staring at Clay with a mix of curiosity, guilt, panic, and dread, Clay sighs. “I-... I dunno, I’ve… felt the same. As you, I-... I mean.”

George feels himself relax with relief, before he tenses again. “What?” he asks quickly, his eyes widening. “Wait, but-”

“Bisexual,” Clay says matter-of-factly, his nonchalant confidence seemingly having returned a little in replacement of his shy, stuttering demeanor just a few moments before. “I’ve… known since I was seventeen. I just didn’t want to say anything in case you, like… I dunno. Didn’t like it.”

George chuckles lightly, still a little nervous sounding. “Yeah, well… Now you know that I don’t  _ not _ like it, at least?” He looks away from Clay and back at the playground, his eyes flicking across all of the playground equipment, and at the way the ever-rising sun’s light flickers across all of the cold plastic.

Clay’s eyes don’t move from the side of George’s face, studying the way his face looks. The sun glimmers gently against his eyes, making their usually dark brown color seem lighter, and more welcoming. His jawline looks soft; prominent, but soft, with a more gentle look to it. His hair is messy from how he’d been laying in the grass. 

“Can I kiss you?” Clay asks quietly, feeling his gut twist as he realizes just  _ how  _ impulsive he’s being.

George inhales sharply, looking over at Clay in slight shock. His eyes flick up and down Clay’s body, then land on his face, and quickly search his expression. “... What?” he asks, sounding lost, in a way.

Clay smiles slightly, to calm himself if not to calm George. “Can, I, kiss, you?” he says much slower, annunciating every word this time. 

Incredulous, George smiles back. But this smile is different than Clay’s; it’s one of disbelief, rather than one of warmth and reassurance. “I mean… Are you-... Is this a joke? Are you joking?”

“No.” Clay stares at George, waiting for some kind of solid response.

For another few seconds, George stares, then sighs. He glances over his shoulder, then over at the playground, before looking down at his lap. His smile fades, then grows slightly again; only, this time, it’s much warmer, and more genuine. A bit nervous, but much less disbelieving. “Yeah,” he mumbles. 

After allowing George a few seconds to process, Clay gently presses his palm to the side of the other’s face, adjusting him so they’re making eye contact again. His eyes wander over George’s nervous expression for a moment before he closes the gap between them, immediately closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around George’s neck as he realizes how long he’s wanted to do this for.

George remains nervous and panicked for only a moment before melting into it himself, wrapping his arms around Clay’s waist and interlocking his fingers behind the other’s back.

They stay this way a few seconds before pulling away, staring at each other for a moment before busting out laughing. 

“You nervous fuck,” Clay teases, shoving George onto his back in the grass and standing up. 

“Nervous! Me!” George replies with a wide smile, watching Clay brush the grass off of his lime green hoodie before he stands himself, brushing off his own blue hoodie. “Please, you hesitated so hard.”

“I was waiting for an answer!” Clay says with a laugh, shoving George again. Thankfully, he only stumbles, rather than falling onto his ass. 

George laughs, too, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and starting to wander towards the car they’d taken here together. “Yeah, sure.”

Clay’s hearty laugh fades to a small, content smile, taking his own little path to the car. He lets out a soft chuckle after a few moments, though. “Hey George,” he calls, looking over at the other, who’s already opening the passenger door. 

“Yeah?”

“Bet we never thought we’d do  _ that  _ when we were kids, huh?”


	2. Nick x Karl (Angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an angst ship fic. The ship is Sapnap (Nick) and Karl Jacobs.
> 
> Based off the song "Fine" by UPSAHL.
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Alcohol/alcoholism, mentions of an unhealthy relationship, generally pretty sad?

It’s been seven hundred forty-two days since Nick and Karl had broken up. 

Seven hundred forty-two days, eleven hours, and…

_ Nine minutes, _ Nick thinks with a heavy sigh, pressing his fourth glass of jack and coke to his lips. His brown eyes, glazed from the alcohol, drift around the room. 

In the kitchen down the hallway, he can hear Clay and George talking. At the beginning of their get-together, they had noticed his distantness, and left him to his own devices; Nick may be bold and outgoing, but he’s an introvert. Sometimes, he just needs some time alone, and his two closest friends are often really good about noticing when that is. Thankfully.

As Nick’s drunken gaze lands on Patches - Clay’s little brown-and-white cat - he grimaces.  _ Karl has a cat. _

Tears gather in the boy’s eyes as his fogged brain continues to wander, focusing in on only one thing - Karl. Everything else is jumbled, and messy, and muggy, and… sad, but in an almost bittersweet way. Almost.

_ I used you, man, it’s my fault. I was a fuckin’ drunk at the time, and I used you for a place to stay. I loved you, but… It wasn’t the right kind of love. I mean, I didn’t treat it as the right kind of love. I just… _

His thoughts pause abruptly as a loud  _ clang _ in the kitchen startles him. As his eyes dart over to the hallway that leads to the kitchen, searching groggily, Nick can hear his own voice inside his head again, growing louder as small, salty droplets make their way down his rosy cheeks.

_ You won’t pick up my calls. And I know why, of course, I mean… I understand. Why would you pick up my calls? I was so fucking awful to you, and just... But… I dunno. I feel like I’m going through withdrawals. I feel like you were something that I needed, that I still need, and you were taken from me, just… by myself. _

_ You used to try and sit me down and tell me I would get over my stupid alcohol problem, and tell me that things would end up okay. I took that shit for granted, treated it like it was just another series of talks and shit that didn’t even mean anything, and… I’m sorry. I should have listened to you, and understood how much you cared about me. I hope you cared about me. Did you? _

__ Nick shakes his head. He doesn’t wanna think about that. He doesn’t want to wonder whether or not Karl actually loved him. Because no matter what the answer is, it’s going to hurt. Drunk or not, he knows that.

_ We’re both single now, and we have been ever since. Since that day we broke up, and you… punched me in my stupid face, and pushed me out onto your porch so hard I fell into your little rose garden. _

The image of the garden paints itself across the forefront of Nick’s mind, and a faint, sad smile crosses his face. As more tears fall down into his lap, he leans back, pressing himself into the corner of Clay’s old couch. He spills some of his mixed drink on the floor, but he doesn’t worry - both because he’s drunk, and because Clay has a hardwood floor.

_ … It’s my fault. I never wanted us to fall apart like that, even though I was doing everything in my fucking power that made sure it happened… Everything I did during that time was a mistake.  _

Nick furrows his eyebrows, sniffling harshly and wiping at his nose with a bare forearm. Abruptly, he sits up. Placing his glass on the ground, he stands. Rushing towards Clay’s guest bathroom, he shuts his eyes tight, trying his hardest to avoid watching how the hallway spins around him. 

Once he reaches the room, he slams the door behind him, feeling his chest heave as a sob pushes its way from his tightened throat. As a nervous precaution, he locks the door. Close friends or not, he’s not one to cry in front of people, let alone have full-on meltdowns.

He sinks to the floor, back pressing against the cold gray bricks that make up the guest bathroom wall. His knees press tightly to his chest, and his elbows rest atop them. Tears drip steadily down his face as his head falls into his hands defeatedly. More sobs fall from his lips, which are held tightly closed to avoid alerting Clay or George of his breakdown.

_ I never even said sorry… Not to you, not to Clay, who had to watch us fight, or Jimmy, who had to comfort you when I disappeared for a week in June… Not to Alex or George, who both tried so fucking hard to help me quit drinking so much, not to fuckin’... No one! I didn’t ever say sorry. It’s my fault, man, I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it. _

_ I think about you so much. So, so much, man. Every day. I loved you, and as much as I can’t fucking stand admitting it, I still do. Karl, I- _

__ “Nick?” 

Nick bites his quivering lip, his entire body making a hiccup motion as another round of silent sobs push through him. “... Yeah?” he manages to croak somewhat clearly, sounding more tired than sad. 

Too much alcohol. And what a surprise that is, huh?

“... I know you don’t wanna be bothered right now, but… Give me your phone, please.”

Nick’s brain finally registers that it’s Clay outside the bathroom door. “My… My phone?” he says, pausing to sniffle. He looks down at his phone, which sits in his hand with its screen clicked off.

His hand?  _ How long have I been holding my phone?  _ Everything for the past few hours feels like such a blur to him, and it’s hard to remember any singular movement he’s made. “... Why my phone?”

Clay leans against the door from the outside, causing a quiet  _ shmp _ noise as his shoulder hits the hollow wood. “I, uh… saw you texting earlier. You shouldn’t be texting when you’re drunk,” he says with a gentle tone. Nick can hear the older boy’s frown, and it makes his own frown even deeper than it was before. “... Can I have it, please?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Nick looks down at his phone screen, blinking away the new round of tears that fill his glossy eyes. Confused as to when he was texting - or, more importantly,  _ what _ he was texting, he enters his password. It takes a few tries before he gets it right. When he does, his eyes brush over all of the text, processing things much slower than he probably should be.

As his eyes land on the name of the contact that’s open, he sighs, and bites his lower lip as it quivers again. 

_ Karl Jacobs.  _

__ All of the thoughts he’d been having in the past twenty minutes are there in the text box, waiting patiently for Nick to hit send. 

… Send. Should he… send it? It’s definitely a drunk text, but is it a bad one? It’s an apology, right? That can’t be so bad.

_...I could send it, I- _

“Nick? Your phone?”

Nick shuts his eyes, inhaling sharply as Clay’s reminder pulls him from his thoughts. A few long seconds pass before he’s able to get out a tight, “Uh… Y-Yeah… Sorry.” 

Clicking his phone screen off, he slides the device through the gap beneath the door. He leans his head back against the wall, lifting an arm to rub at the outside of his sore throat as he listens to the faint sound of Clay pocketing his phone, unsent text and all.

A few more seconds of silence, and then a gentle, “If you need us, Nick… We’re in the kitchen.” 

Nick doesn’t respond, only opening his puffy eyes to stare across the room at the bathroom wall. It’s dimly lit by the few candles that are scattered across the room, shadows casted in the faint glow by shampoo bottles, hairbrushes, and other various hygienic items that Clay owns.

“... Love you, man.” The tone of the words has a hint of finality to it, without being any less soft than before. It’s Clay’s way of letting Nick know that he’s leaving now. As the words leave his mouth, he sighs, and the sound of his socked feet scuffing the floor grows fainter as he heads back to George.

Rather than all of the jumbled sad mess from before, Nick has only one thought.

_ Should I have hit send? _

\---

Karl sits alone in his own bed, tears dripping slowly down his pale face for the second hour in a row. A single sad thought runs through his mind over and over, continuing to pull tears from his faded blue eyes.

_ Even after all we went through, I still miss you. _


End file.
